


Lone Fortress

by plsnskanks (orphan_account)



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 12:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11828310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/plsnskanks
Summary: Tord and Paul get pinned down and Paul finds out something unfortunate.





	Lone Fortress

Pride is a funny thing.

It’s pride that motivates Tord to attempt daring attacks, push where others would back off, continue where others see nothing but their own failure. It makes him bold, enduring, and stubborn.

It’s a trait that Paul admires in his leader. 

Well, admired.

It starts off simple. Tord is leading a stealth operation through Green Territory. It’s this little strip of land that is only about ten miles long and they are trying to blow through it under the cover of night to get to allied territory where Tord is planning to negotiate in person for bigger contributions to the war effort.

It’s ten miles. A twenty minute drive as opposed to a two day drive to completely circumvent Green Territory. Time is vital. Tord knows that. He respects that. He knows that every minute he wastes good men are potentially dying at his fingertips.

So they take the risky route.

And they get caught. Someone catches sight of a scout and there’s a crack of gunfire as a soldier pops off a shot in the general direction. Suddenly Paul is slamming his foot down on the gas and the whole convoy picks up their pace, because if cover is blown, the need for the slow quiet approach is null.

They make it. Almost. The distant lights of the allied border cities are winking at them seductively as they peak the last hill in the territory. But before that are the muzzles and main guns of a party outnumbering them at least five fold. 

They are fucked. They are fucked and Paul knows they are fucked. So he stops at the top of the hill and crawls into the back where Tord is. 

“Red Leader, what do we do?” He says as he watches Tord stare coolly out the dash. He sits a long moment closes his eyes and sighs deeply.

“Beat a retreat to the warehouse a quarter back, I’ll request backup but the chances of us getting out cleanly are looking grim,” Tord says.

So that’s how they end up pinned down. Completely surrounded by the Green Army, in a war of attrition. They have enough supplies to last them two weeks. They are covered in almost every way for two weeks. More than enough time for backup to come or for Patryk to negotiate a deal. Something. So Paul thinks they’re good. Thinks they are sitting easy. He tells Tord that, Tord merely offers a tense smile.

Tord distances himself from the group. Sits on his own on the other side of the ware house. Just listening to the comms and not speaking to anyone.

He thinks it might be that Tord is nervous about the situation. Nervous about losing his troops. About losing an ally. On the third day, Paul figures out that is not the case. Because on the third day Tord takes him into the warehouse bathroom for a “Private Meeting”. He doesn’t look good. He’s sweating and pallid and looks to be in a great deal of pain.

“What’s wrong, were you injured before you took this mission?” Paul says in alarm as he looks Tord over.

“No,no, no its nothing like that,” Tord says. He doubles over onto the kitchen sink and Paul just looks at him in confusion. Tord closes his eyes for a moment and then opens them to fix Paul with a solid glare.

“Paul, you are one of my best friends and my oldest ally, I trust you,” Tord says and Paul notes the way his arms shake as he tries to hold himself up. “I trust you to keep this a secret.” 

Tord pushes down is collar and bares the side of his neck not covered in burn scarring to Paul. Paul sees faint scarring there but it’s different, familiar, almost like….

“Is that a bonding scar?”

Tord grimaces in response and Paul has his answer.

“What does some omega getting too frisky with you have to do with our current situation?” Paul says exasperated that his leader is bringing up a past lay at such a critical time. “Are you in rut?”

“Paul,” Tord wheezes, “you are an idiot.” Then Tord is slumping farther onto the sink and Paul comes over to help him off it and it’s only when he is pulling Tord up into his arms that he gets it. A big inhale of it.

Tord is in heat. Not rut. Heat. 

Paul looks down slowly at his friend. “Why the hell would you keep this a secret from Patryk and me. Especially when you are so shit at preparation.”

Tord glares up at him, or tries to, his position makes it difficult. “I couldn’t afford it being leaked to the army. I couldn’t, you could probably stage a mutiny with this information alone.”

Paul looks at him a long moment, ignoring the pulsing sting of those words. After all they had been through Tord still hadn’t trusted them enough to tell them about this? Men who had been willing to die for him? Who had followed him back when he was just some barely overage twerp scrambling to get munitions and able bodies.

Paul leans in close, turning Tord around, getting nose to nose with him. Tord looks up in surprise at his livid visage. “Paul….” The word comes out of his mouth, soft, almost a whimper. Paul notes how pliant Tord looks under him and he is squeezing his eyes shut in frustration as an image of Patryk flashes up in his mind.

“You don’t let omegas on the battlefield. It’s Red Army policy. Do you have any idea how bad this looks on you?” Paul snarls and Tord is flinching back. Paul grips him tighter.

“I have a thing. With Patryk,” Paul states flatly. Tord looks at him, confused for a moment. He doesn’t understand quite yet and then it snaps into place. Realization hits, and then guilt.

“Paul I-,” Tord starts.

“Shut. Up,” Paul grits. “We don’t have a choice. Patryk will understand. Patryk will also be informed of this and he and I will both be carrying back up suppressants from now on.”

“I’m not a child, Paul, I’ve lead this whole army to success on multiple occasions.”

“Those success were built of the backs of men who trusted you with their lives and you couldn’t even trust them with your biology.”

Tord’s eyes narrowed, “Don’t be so naïve, you know the way they look at your partner, especially the young ones, what they would do to get some time alone, ever think of that Paul?”

Paul’s look tells him that he has indeed. His eyes are little slits as he glares at Tord and it hits Tord that maybe he shouldn’t be antagonizing the only person who can keep this situation from blowing out into full scale chaos.

“Look Paul, I’m sorry,” Tord begins and he means it he really does. It doesn’t feel good to lie to people. It’s become a bit of a habit, a way of trying to ensure that he makes it out alive. Tord looks up and he sees Paul, with these soft brown eyes and ragged hair that’s always just out of place and with one lick sticking up somewhere it shouldn’t. And even though he’s angry, furious, livid. Tord can see he’s still very much in control.

He’s too good for this. He’s always going to be one of those men that tries to fight the losing battle of fair and balanced. That will get him shot in the back for sure someday. Tord can see it in his face, and he knows Patryk can too.

“Shut up, you need help, I don’t really have a choice but to offer it now do I, oh esteemed Red Leader? After all, you could just drag me out and have me shot for disobedience, right?”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“And where is the backing to that statement?” Paul said. “When have you ever given people an inch of trust or vulnerability? You risk nothing for the men who would risk it all for you.”

Tord closes his eyes and he wants out of Paul’s grip. He wants to feel the cool press of the sink again. To maybe crawl his way over to the toilet so he can throw up in it.

“It comes back to bite you Tord, it does,” Paul says softly and they are moving. Moving where he doesn’t know, his vision is distorted and blurry and all he is doing is looking at the checkered tiles and trying to count the black ones but there are far, far too many and he is in way over his head.

He finds himself pressed up against the wall and the coolness is so inviting he feels like he could melt into it, become one. He feels his pants being tugged down and a soft swear.

“Tord this is disgusting, your pants are full of the shit,” Paul grunts as he and tries to pull off Tord’s pants and underwear without touching the accrued amount of slick.

“When did you last have a heat? Unsuppressed.”

“Not since starting the army, no time,” Tord murmurs and Paul just stares at him as Tord feels up and down the walls, running his finger down in between the gaps. “Couldn’t risk it. No lay either. Just another risk.”

Well. That explained why the bonding scar was so light. Whoever had made it clearly wasn’t around anymore.

“Okay, who made the mark?” Paul asks, and the question is purely digging, but after being denied so many answers for so long, maybe he has the right to dig just a little right now.

He can only see the profile of Tord’s face as he mashes it against the wall, but what he can see looks pained and uncomfortable and Paul gets the sense he is digging into old wounds that haven’t quite healed.

“He was my alpha,” Tord moans and he’s slumping into the wall and looking so pathetic as he starts to slowly slide down. Paul huddles in closer and pushes him up firmly.

“Tord I need you to stand up on your own otherwise we have to do this on the toilet,” Paul says and after a moment Tord’s shaky legs straighten out. Paul unbuttons his jacket one by one and slides it off him, leaving Tord naked except for a white tank top. Paul turns him back around and lets him lean on the wall again, sliding down to his knees.

“Where’re you goin’, I need you to fuck me,” Tord says and he draws out the ‘f’ on fuck extra long.   
“You just admitted to not having been laid in years,” Paul sighed, “I’m going to try and lessen the blow.”

He spreads Tord’s lips and starts to lap gently at the underside of his dick, rubbing soothing circles into Tord’s thighs as he goes. He puts Tord in his mouth and in response Tord starts to spread his legs for him which is promising. Paul pulls back. 

“Tord do you have lube?”

“”S in my pocket,” Tord says and gestures with his toe at his discarded pants. Paul digs through them and sure enough. Lube. He looks back at Tord and he can feel that prickle of anger rising up again. Here he is, in a dirty bathroom with Tord in such a fucking catastrophe of a situation that he barely has a say in the matter if he doesn’t want their army to fall to ruin.

He coats his fingers liberally and jams them into Tord, who just moans in response. Whether it was out of pain or pleasure, he has no clue. He just works his fingers, scissoring them and spreading Tord on him. The omega above him lets out little noises and whimpers but after Paul adds a third finger, the moans increase in frequency and loudness.

He pulls out after an especially loud one. He helps Tord out of his tank top, eyeing his well-muscled chest and dusky little nipples. Honestly, he can see why Tord could easily pass for an alpha. He’s got a big bone structure and all the exercise on top of that has basically negated the standard omega chub around the belly and hips. He runs one broad hand over it and Tord lets out a soft little “alpha” in a whisper soft voice. 

Paul almost wants to hold off then, to just take Tord down onto the floor and give him some affection and skin to skin contact until he stops shaking so much and looking so desperate. It reminded him of how Patryk was when he came back from a long mission, just touch starved and jittery. He had felt that way himself, but seeing that in your partner? Painful no matter what.

But Tord didn’t go easy on himself by letting himself fall into the situation he did and Paul can’t let him have it any easier if they are going to get out cleanly. So he jams the tank into Tords mouth and stretches the rest of it until he can tie it behind his head in a sort of makeshift gag. 

Tord moans but otherwise is quiet. Paul runs his hands on his chest, rubbing little circles into Tord’s chest, who bucks his hips in response. Paul smiles a little before returning to business.

“Keep your voice down, if you need me to stop, knock “Shave and a haircut” onto the wall, okay?” Paul says. Tord just stares blankly. Paul knocks the rhythm. “Do that.”

Tord still does nothing. Paul does it again. This time he gets a slow nod. He lines himself up and starts to push in. Tord pushes back hard and Paul finds his first thrust going a lot deeper than he intended. Tord is muffling some guttural noise through the gag, fist slamming into the wall.

Paul is almost afraid to move but then Tord is pushing back even harder so he works with him. He pushes into the hilt and then pulls out. And thus starts a steady rhythm. He can feel Tord slowly getting more and more worked up about something. He is worming himself around in Pauls grip, pressing closer, hooking his hands around the back of Paul’s neck, slotting his face into the crook between his neck and shoulder and pulling in deep breaths.

Paul feels the body under him stop shaking quiet so much and it’s a relief. He pulls Tord closer to him and he is almost cradling him in his arms as he fucks up into him harder and harder. Tord is just pliant, he holds Paul to him and tries to nuzzle in deeper, every aspect of him seems open and wanting to Paul’s attention.

Willing to suck him in and let him take what he wants. Paul moves down to the floor, laying Tord on it and he gets a look at his face, eyes squeezed shut, breathing harshly through the gag, posture open and boneless.

He wants to kiss him. The thought his him out of nowhere but it’s true. He wants to let Tord go and make himself a nest and then take him in it and pepper him in kisses. It’s probably his heat stench playing with his emotions but Paul just wants him to know what that’s like.

To be okay and not have to worry over being alone. He is thinking these idle thoughts as he fucks him and he barely notices his knot start. He notices when it becomes impossible to pull out. Tord squeaks as he attempts and Paul apologizes softly and continues to just watch his expressions as he lays over Tord, propping himself up on his elbows. 

Tord knocks the beat into the wall once, twice, on the third time he just keeps knocking, wrapping his fist on the wall until the skin starts to scrape off his knuckles. Paul snaps out of his daze and pulls the gag from Tord’s mouth.

He doesn’t know what to expect other than an annoyed, “That’s enough.”

Instead he gets Tord babbling incoherently. He tries to listen and understand what he is saying.

“You know now you can’t leave, don’t leave, you can’t leave me now that you know I’m an omega please,” It’s just an arrangement of these words on repeat accompanied by actual tears rolling down Tord’s face. To be frank. It’s alarming and unnerving and Paul doesn’t really appreciate having a crying omega under him while he is literally stuck without other options.

Tord begs him as Paul can feel himself swelling. Tord is on his back against the floor and Paul rolls him over so he is the one on top and Tord is laying chest to chest.

He runs a soothing hand through Tord’s hair and pushes his head down against his chest so Tord’s ear is full of nothing but the sound of his steady heartbeat. Paul strokes his back as he lays down, looking up at the dingy cracked ceiling, at the shitty fluorescent light that looks like it could wink out at any moment.

“It’s been a while for you huh? A long time since you could have someone to trust,” Paul murmurs. 

“Hurts,” Tord moans. Paul grips either leg and spreads them a little, shifting himself up. He reaches down and feels around his knot to find Tord’s dick again and rubs at it a bit, jerking him off lightly as Tord tries to adjust.

“Loosen up,” he says in a soft voice and he is pressing down a little harder as his other arm holds Tord in place. He can feel his impending orgasm so he just keeps rubbing at Tord as the other man quiets down and seems to accept the sensations being thrust on him. 

His breaths get shorter and he is letting out these unrestrained high pitched noises that are quite possibly the cutest sounds that Tord has ever made.

Tord cums with a cry and Paul tries not to grimace at the wetness between them. Tord relaxes a bit and Paul takes the opportunity to shove himself deeper into Tord and cums. They sit there, listening to each other’s panting as Paul brings them up off the dirty floor. 

After a moment Tord seems to have regained himself and the mask is back in place. Not for long if Paul has anything to do about it.

“Paul are you going to pull out?” he says in a brusque manner.

Paul backs them up into the wall pinning Tord there. He rolls his hips and despite his desires, Tord lets out a gasp.

“We are done with this closed off emotion bullshit, you are a mess,” Paul says and Tord wants to argue but fuck, he just keeps rolling his hips like that and it is really distracting, and also the way his hand is running through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp. Tord feels a hot mouth on his neck and he wants to fight it, push back, push it off but Paul gives him an especially nice thrust leaving him gasping.

He pulls off.

“It’s a hicky, don’t worry, nothing your collar can’t cover. Come by before your next heat sometime and we can discuss something a little different,” Paul says in this deep, rumbling tone and Tord finds it hard not to whine when he pulls out. 

Paul tosses him his jacket and pants. “Put those on and stay in here. You smell like a claimed bitch. I’ll keep watch outside the door and tell the men that you are feeling ill and need time apart,” Paul says as he buttons his shirt and straightens out his jacket.

“Oh so you’re the Red Leader now?” Tord snipes.

“The Red Leader seems to have a little heat on the brain as of right now, feel free to knock if he needs more assistance with that,” Paul says and with that Tord is left standing with pants half on and an open jacket, cum slowly starting to leak out and drip on the floor along with the remains of his dignity.

Backup does eventually come. The guise of subtlety is completely dropped as takes and air support roll in. The Green Army completely fucks off on a retreat into their own territory because if they had five time the arms as Tord’s little convoy, Tord’s backup had five times that.

Paul leads the men out, telling them that Tord will be loaded into a different aircraft because he is in critical condition. In reality he is hustled into the same jeep Paul drove him in and together they book it out of the Green Territory. Tord heaves a sigh of relief as they cross the Green Barrier. 

And promptly shits himself as high caliber sniper bullet smashes out their back and front windshields. Just one shot. Nothing else follows. After recovering his wits, Tord later on thinks of it as a literal shot over the windshield. Just a friendly fuck you, courtesy of Edd.

Or Tom.

God knows the man had this unnervingly good long range aim. Bullet drop, wind speed, moving vehicles. Knows how to adjust for all of them.

So Paul floors it and before they can even pick the glass out of themselves they are into the mountains and out of range from any more sniper fire. They arrive and immediately Paul is escorting Tord to the private sector. 

“Where are we going,” Tord asks, and Paul thinks he is trying to sound pissed off, but mostly he just sounds exhausted.

“You are helping me explain this situation to Patryk,” Paul says shortly.

A few moments later Tord finds himself in Paul and Patryk’s quarters and there he comes face to face with a very excited looking Patryk.

For all of two seconds.

Then he gets a whiff of the two of them and Paul is holding back an enraged omega from a terrified one while desperately trying to explain what happened.

“You hid this from him?” Patryk seethed. 

“We’ve been through this, it was a potential risk for blackmail or security so I kept it a secret,” Tord explained calmly.

“Yes, he was very good at it until he forgot his suppressants and had his first unsuppressed heat in two years.”

Patryk’s eyes narrow and he smirks as he catches on to Paul’s tone, “Oh? And how was that?”

“He was very expressive.”

Tord finds the head rising in his cheeks as the two of him stare him down. He wants to retort but any response dies on his lips as his mind fades to static.

“Tord, consequences be damned, if you put him back in a situation like that, I will kill you,” Patryk snarls. Paul finds it moderately amusing how Tord seems to shrink back from the smaller omega huddling into his space.

He jams a finger into Tord’s face, pushing his nose up into a pig snout.

“But. If you need to say, need to have an unsuppressed heat in a room where no one will judge, the heat stench is already explained by another omega, who as it stands, will allow for another body in his bed. Well. You have the address.”

Tord opens his mouth and he is probably going to say thank you or something of the like but before he can Patryk cuts him off.

“Get out.”

And he’s gone. Back turned, shoulders slumped, head down. Patryk is the kind of guy that takes “hands off my boyfriend” to an unnecessarily violent level. Tord knows this. It’s part of why a little bit of him is terrified of him. It’s part of why Paul loves him. The door shuts and they are alone. Patryk turns to him.

“Did he cry during it? I kind of hope he did.”

“Yes Patryk, he cried.”

Paul wishes his heart didn’t flutter at the mean little smile that quirks up on Patryk’s lips. But, like many things, it’s just out of his hands.


End file.
